Stained
by justsomewords
Summary: No matter how much you've assured yourself that you left no trace, there was one place you didn't scrub clean.


It's hard to say what hurt worse: that I thought there had been something there or that I know there is nothing there now. I felt like my days smeared together, waiting for that familiarity to resume or fade away completely. I feel stupid being stuck in this limbo, watching the rain spill down the glass on the storefront, watching the kids play outside in the sunshine, smiling at the phone whenever it rings and eating meals with people who love me. It should all be just what I need, but I'm left wanting.

I don't even know what I'm left wanting anymore.

At first, I thought it was just an intensity that our interactions always had, your devil-may-care attitude and my unwillingness to back down. I told myself that's all it was, and that once I started walking into the labyrinth of your mind that all I wanted was to fix you. I just needed to help you, I just needed to show you what a wonderful world could be yours. I wanted to guide you out, hold your hand like no one else had. I could see the small boy inside you peering out through the fogged window of your eyes. He just wanted to feel someone's hand in his own, to squeeze it and feel it squeeze back.

I squeezed back.

Maybe it's because I'm inexplicably attracted to broken things that I was so attracted to you. Maybe I felt like there was some part of me that you could find that I'd hidden away and guide me out the same as I'd done for you. There was a moment I felt like we had that connection. I felt like we'd laid ourselves bare before each other and that from there we could become more than what we allowed ourselves to be.

Maybe it's because I just can't leave things alone that I couldn't leave you alone, even when you told me to. I thought if I pushed my way through your defenses, no matter how much I may suffer along the way, that once I got inside of you, I could claim my prize. It was a prize I wasn't sure I'd ever wanted, but one that I craved once I knew I couldn't have.

We fell into place before I knew it. We became routine. You had my hand and you tugged me along. You encouraged me in ways that left me feeling lost and raw and confused and excited all at once. I always used the same tone with you and you knew it didn't mean for you what it meant for everyone else. Each time I rolled my eyes, each time I begrudgingly went along with your whims, each time we narrowly escaped disaster. You knew every harsh word was a confession, each exasperated syllable a secret admission of what you inspired in me.

You knew each time I scolded, it meant 'I love you'.

I thought you did.

I did so much for you and felt I never did enough. I was there every day with you, for you, thinking of what it might be like the day you finally rejoined the mundane life we'd lead before. Maybe that was my mistake. Maybe I shouldn't have thought you wanted that. Maybe it was never about what I wanted.

I did what you asked. I never backed down, I never let you bowl me over. I gave what you wanted without ever giving in completely. I thought that's what you wanted. I thought you liked me strong-willed and challenging, I thought you wanted me to give it my all. I thought you wanted me for who I was, not some cheap imitation.

I lost track of how long it's been since you've been gone. All my clothes have been washed a dozen times over. There's no trace of your scent on any of them, no errant stain on some forgotten corner of fabric. Some part of me wished we hadn't moved so fast, that I'd delayed you just long enough to tumble you into my sheets a few times. I thought that when I left tear stains on my pillowcase, that maybe it would be something if I just had some piece of you left there to hold and smell and mourn over. But you were gone without a trace and I was crying alone.

I found your apartment. I wasn't surprised to find it one of those shoe-box efficiencies. You'd tidied up better than I thought you would, though you didn't bother to take out the trash before you left. That's how I knew I'd found the right place, even though there was no sign of life inside. Take out trays and energy drinks and little else. There were some scrap electronics and a couple of hard drives that I confiscated. You'd taken a magnet to them.

I tried to find a piece of you there too. I thought that if I just sat in the middle of your floor next to the upright mattress you would walk in the door. I did that when I couldn't find you anywhere else. Day after day, I laid on your floor, stared at the walls and ceiling. I searched everywhere you might have left something. I took down the mattress and laid on it and tried to catch the faintest touch of your scent. I left tear stains on that too.

You used generic 100en shampoo and soap. You didn't use cologne. You used plain detergent. There was nothing about you I could replicate once you were gone. I thought maybe I could. I picked through the trash you left and threw it around the apartment when there was nothing I could use in it. That's how your landlord found me. That's how I pushed past the new occupant with my face red and cheeks wet. There was nothing there. Nothing at all.

I combed through your old territory. I talked to anyone who gave me a wide berth. I thought they must know who I was, why I was there, who I was looking for. I cornered them, I asked them, I threatened them, but none of them knew. Not one single soul knew.

'Rhyme's over,' they told me. 'No Usui, no business, no Ruff Rabbit.'

I knew those were your words and they cut into me deeper than anything else ever could. You'd told them, but you hadn't told me. The longer I tracked you around the city, the more proof I found you were gone forever. You were gone forever and I was the only one who didn't deserve to know why.

What was your name?

Where had you gone?

Was there someone else you'd finally gone home to?

I had more questions the longer time crawled by. I felt like I was going through the motions. My thoughts wandered just like you had, trying to find the paths you had taken to get so far away from me.

Did it mean anything at all?

Was I just a cheap thrill in the end?

Was it all just a different way to best me?

I got used to the feeling of you being gone. There was a hole inside me that I'd made for you. I'd pushed other things aside, thrown some of them out. I tried to make it the perfect size for you to slip into. I'd thought about moving in together. I'd thought about how it might be to pass you in the morning on my way out the door. I thought maybe it would keep getting more and more casual. I thought about how endeared I already was to your shitty attitude and the moments I saw you peeking out from below it. I'd let myself get carried away. I'd made a space for you inside of me and hoped you'd want to fill it.

But I guess you didn't.

Maybe that's the sort of person you'd always been, I told myself. Maybe you just picked up and left every few years. Maybe once you left home, you just roamed around looking for something new. Maybe I didn't know you as well as I thought I had started to. Maybe you'd already rented another apartment and found another obsession. Maybe they were younger than me, cuter than me, more outgoing than me. Maybe you would stay with them. Maybe they could heal what I couldn't.

I feel guilty that no one can fill the space I made for you. I tried for a while. I hung out with those I cared the most about. I tried to head myself off when I felt that sorrow pulling me in, I made impulsive plans and pushed myself harder than I normally would. I drank, I laughed, I had to be carried home more than once. I cried sometimes. I held onto clothes, I begged not to be left alone. I pushed everyone away the more I tried to keep them close. I left more stains on my pillowcase.

It's not fair to ask others to share your pain, I guess. Or maybe it's just selfish to. Maybe I should've learned from you instead of asking you to learn from me. No one shared your pain, and you shared no one else's. You were fine before you met me, I guess. You are fine without me, I guess. You can feel, but you choose not to, I guess. I wasted my time, I guess.

I guess.

I've put on fake smiles every day. Sometimes people see through it, no matter how hard I try. The places I deliver to the most are the ones who notice. My biggest smile, my most cheerful words. The manifest was ready, I just needed the signature and I'd be out and on my way.

'Where's my sunshine?' she asked me, looking worried.

'I'm just tired,' I lied.

The truth is, I don't know anymore.

I've become more like you, I guess. Locked away inside, tired and listless, spending hours sitting silently in front of the computer, just hoping for a glimpse of that one elusive player. Nothing else matters, it's all just static around me. I'm barely even there and I'm beginning to feel like no one would notice if I was gone. Maybe they'll get used to my shell walking around, going through the motions. Maybe they'll forget who I used to be. Maybe I'll forget how we used to be.

I don't even know what I would say to you, if I found you. I want to say I'd be angry, or that I would be satisfied. I tell myself I just want the closure of knowing where you've been, of what and who you've been doing. I tell myself so many things, but never the truth.

I would probably cry. It's what I'm good at. I would probably cry and my tears would probably mean nothing to you. You may even say as much. Or maybe you'd say they did. It wouldn't matter in either case. You wouldn't know what to do about it, and you wouldn't do anything at all. You'd probably just stare at me. Hell, you may even make a shitty comment about it. It wouldn't matter at all.

I wish I could just forget you. I wish you could just disappear from my mind the same way you disappeared from my life. I wish I could just be free of you, even though you've already left me nothing to hold me back. I wish I could wash myself the way I've washed everything else.

I wish I could scrub the stain of you off my heart.

It's the only thing I have left.


End file.
